Needful Things
by Aedammair
Summary: Everyone needs something.
1. Welcome to Haven

So it's only taken me a million years to start writing again, but I'm back with a cross-over I've been considering for a few weeks now. It's been churning like butter in my brain...and hopefully it's smooth.

Disclaimer: If you recognize them, they don't belong to me!

* * *

The shop appears overnight.

On Sunday evening, Merle Standish's old bait shop is empty and rundown, the same way it's been since the economy bottomed out and Merle couldn't afford to run it. Sally Holstead remembers seeing it on her way home that night from Patrick's Pub.

On Monday morning, there's newspaper over the windows and a sign on the door that catches everyone's eye as they pass it on their way to Rosemary's for breakfast or Utney's for lumber.

The sign is eye catching, thought provoking. Scrawled on aged white pine in ink so red it almost appears to drip, are two simple words that could mean any number of things.

**Needful Things**.

The sky is an odd shade of reddish gray, the color of aging meat, and it's been that way since early Monday morning. Audrey Parker notices it while standing on the deck outside her apartment. She drinks her first – and most important – cup of coffee of the day and watches the sunrise beyond the cove where The Gull sits. Something about it turns her stomach and she cannot finish her coffee. She leaves the mug on the side table nearby and averts her eyes.

"Something seem…off about the sunrise this morning?" she asks Nathan Wurnous when she sees him later that morning.

He shrugs, sets a bag from Rosemary's bakery down on her desk. "Just a gray morning. Why?"

She pushes the bag away, still nauseated from earlier. "Something about the color. It just didn't look right."

Nathan grins. "Late summer sunrises will do that, especially if there's a storm coming." He sits in the chair across from her desk. "Not hungry?"

"Saving it for later," she says with a small smile. "What's on the agenda for this morning?"

"Nothing. Seems we had a quiet weekend."

"That's oddly worrisome."

He shakes his head. "Be thankful for it; means there's less paperwork. And I know how much you love paperwork."

She laughs. "You know me too well."

There's a knock on the door to her office and Stan pokes his head in. There are donut crumbs on his tie.

"Chief, Betty Samuels is here. She'd like to file a complaint."

Nathan stands, smirks. "What's bugging her this time?"

"She says someone opened a new shop in Merle's old place. Seems no one asked the town council if it was okay and she's got a bug up her ass about it." His cheeks color and he ducks his head in Audrey's direction. "If you'll pardon the expression, Detective."

Nathan shakes his head. "That woman needs a different hobby," he says to Audrey. To Stan, he frowns. "Take her complaint down. I'll be out in a minute or two." Stan disappears and Nathan turns back to look at his partner. "Some days, it just doesn't pay to be chief."

"I'll come save you if it looks like she's getting ready to hit you with her purse," Audrey says, attempting to keep a straight face and failing.

"Har har," he says, straightening. "Do me a favor, Parker?" She nods. "Humor that old woman and check out the shop she's talking about, since you don't have anything else to do besides laugh at me."

* * *

_Thoughts? Concerns? Cookies? :)_


	2. At Your Service

So it seems I've caused a bit of confusion with my newest adventure. Let me clarify a few points:

1. This isn't technically a crossover, hence why it isn't labeled as such. It's more of a Stephen King homage.

2. The title is a hint. ;-)

I'm glad everyone's enjoying it so far. Thank you for reading - I hope you stick around.

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it most likely belongs to Stephen King and SyFy. Please don't be mad that I've played with them...

* * *

There are other places Bobby Grimes should be. He should be in school, considering it's a Wednesday and he's barely fifteen. He should be learning about algebraic equations. He should be flirting with Jenny Holbrook over third period chemistry experiments.

But he isn't.

Instead, he's skipping class and wandering Main Street. He gave up on algebra last year when it ruined his GPA and his chances at playing ball come April. He's about ready to give up on English and American lit, too, since doing well in them seems to be ruining his chances of getting Lauren Calendar under the bleachers.

"_She likes 'em dumb, Bobby_," Mike O'Connell had told him three weeks ago. "_If she wanted a smart guy, we both know she'd date me._"

The rain catches him off guard. He'd overheard the weatherman out of Bangor swear up and down about clear skies along the coast when he'd swung through the kitchen that morning on his way to school. He pulls his hood up, looks for a shop to duck into – one where the owner won't ask him why he isn't in class.

Merle's old shop looms up beside him, the newspaper peeling away from the windows inside. The rain picks up, along with the wind, and without another thought he pushes through the unlocked door and steps into the old store.

Tables upon tables full of odds and ends. Bookshelves lining the walls, each filled with much the same. He remembers, from years ago, what this place used to look like – rods and reels up against the walls, tackle boxes, flies and hooks, and always the smell of bait: worms, night crawlers, fish heads. If you needed something mostly dead to catch something mostly alive, Merle's was the place to go.

"Hello."

The voice comes from the back of the shop, near the cash register, and Bobby blinks against the dimness. There's the shape of a man in the shadows back there.

"Sorry, mister," Bobby says. "I just needed a place to wait out the rain."

The form moves, shifts, and seems to disappear into the empty corners. When Bobby seems him again, the man is closer and he can get a good look at him. He's tall, lean, with a head of dark gray hair and a thick mustache over thin lips that curve into a smile as he looks at Bobby. There's a glimpse of yellow teeth, which, for just a moment, look pointed in the dim light.

"A respite from the deluge," the man says and without a switch being flipped, light seems to fill the shop. The tables and shelves are illuminated and Bobby can make out a variety objects, including a baseball and a gold book.

"You sellin' antiques?" Bobby asks.

The man shrugs. "Some are old, some are even older than old."

He has an accent, foreign. It isn't anything like the tourists that come down from Quebec. Bobby's heard something like it before, though. Michael's grandmother speaks that way; she's from Croatia…or some other European country that doesn't speak English.

Truth be told, Bobby's kind of given up on geography, too.

"Do you have a name, young man?" the man asks.

Bobby flips his hood back, scratches his hand over his spiky blond hair. "Bobby, sir. Bobby Grimes."

The man holds his hand out, smiles broadly under that dark gray mustache. "Very pleased to meet you, Bobby Grimes." Bobby takes the man's hand and they shake. "Leland Gaunt, at your service."


End file.
